Now that my recent legal issue is behind me, I want to discuss how much I miss being able to smoke pot, without any fear of arrest or notice, as I used to in California and Las Vegas, with glee and stability of my mounting issues.
Medicinal Marijuana doesn't exist in North Carolina. From what I hear, this state is nowhere near legalization. I'm amazed at the amount of time and resources thrown away in favor of CRIMINALIZATION of pot smokers.
I'm actually afraid to smoke here, since one whiff of the heady smoke will most likely bring the PIGS, called by a nosy neighbor, of course! Not that there's any good weed available here, anyway (so I hear!).
This is just another example of the ignorance that floods what I've come to call "HILLBILLY CENTRAL." Dear God, I cannot wait to get the FUCK outta this hell hole!
Soon, my pretties!
I shall Go-Go Home!
My experience, belief and (not so humble) opinion is that high grade pot is the cure all for EVERYTHING.
This concept is alive and well in nineteen places across the United States of Gluttony (sorry, cannot help it, folks - call it a tick). Feel free to check out the list of medical marijuana friendly states here: http://norml.org/legal/medical-marijuana-2.
California and Nevada allow this very real solution to more issues than you could (or, perhaps, would) believe - especially MINE.
Let's face it, folks. Go-Go Rach moved smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt, where generous hearts abound, yet, conformity rules. North Carolina is slow as molasses and decades behind the West on so many levels.
Coming here from Vegas, I felt as though I'd stepped into a time machine stuck in between my worst nightmare and the Andy Griffith Show. UGH.
Man, I regret my relocation to North Carolina more than I could say here (VIPERIZE ME!).
One of the many reasons I wish I never moved here is the ignorance that rules this place.
People here cannot seem to see beyond other peoples' business, boundaries or our human right to choose effective treatment plans.
Needless to say, my "illnesses" grew out of control, the minute I stepped off that fucking Grey Hound bus. Little did I know, that fateful mistake would turn out to be the beginning of a nightmare I can't wait to put thousands of miles BEHIND ME!
For now, poison (er Dr. prescribed pills) are my ONLY option for relief.
Even though Medical Marijuana is the only GUARANTEED, proven to work, CURE-ALL for my various "conditions," I'm not allowed to smoke it.
The penalties for getting caught here are SEVERE, including arrest, jail time and TAXATION.
It's true. As if the aforementioned isn't enough of a freaking hassle for possession, they add a special tax to the pot head's life that must be paid to the state, or guess what? MORE JAIL TIME!
No matter what le douche bag announced on twitter and Facebook, I do not break the law.
In fact, while I'm on the subject, let me clarify something for ya'all that has really frosted my ass, since the lie was told.
According to her and a grossly OBESE CUNT who hangs with my "mother," I supposedly have a warrant for my arrest in Las Vegas for stealing some chick's purse.
First of all, I can only imagine where that story came from.
My guess is the actual PSYCHO who was arrested for doing exactly that, one night when we were at a club together. I was dancing my ass off in the VIP room with a bunch of hotties, when some prostitute who was paid to hang out at the club asked me where my "friend" was. She said she was looking for her because she stole her hand bag, that was full of cold hard cash!
Fortunately, I had no idea where the bitch was.
The last time I saw her that night, she was bounced out of the club for letting some guy suck on her fake tits. I assumed she left to turn a trick, or something. I hadn't seen her for hours.
That is what I told the girl who was looking for her, then I promptly left the premises with my good friend and the thief's worried sick sister. We found out later that BIANCA, or whatever the hell she goes by these days, was IN JAIL for grand larceny, serving time for the crime those dim wits are trying to say I committed.
NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.
I had NO part of the purse stealing (or boob sucking, whorish behavior). I knew nothing about it. What I will say with absolute certainty is that episode was THE END OF MY RELATIONSHIP with that sicko, since she remains fucked up, with one foot in THE CULT and the other in JAIL.
The point is I learned my lesson about breaking the law many years ago. I am scared shit-less of the PIGS, so I do not fuck around with my invaluable life by committing ANY CRIMES WHATSOEVER.
Now, back to my subject, which is the power of POT!
For the curious and Go-Go Rach haters (whatev), I'll clarify my diagnoses, even though I am certain they're OBVIOUS.
I am Bi-Polar I, with Psychotic tendencies, combined with hyper-mania, chronic anxiety and severe PTSD, which rules my existence, thanks to thirteen months of homelessness.
You could also add ADHD and OCD to list...it all depends on my current psychiatrist's opinion, based on education, I suppose.
Does any of this really matter?
Not so much, except when it comes to MY MENTAL HEALTH and THE LAW.
It is what it is.
Now that I live in an anti-marijuana state, I gotta tell yous, it ain't easy to be Go-Go Rach.
Medical marijuana is the ONLY substance that HEALS ME.
Of course, my discovery of this fact happened quite by accident.
After my nervous breakdown in 2010, I was put on state disability insurance by my doctor.
This was just before I left THE CULT.I was miserable, fat, lonely and suicidal. I couldn't shower, let alone work.
Sleep became my favorite solution to everything.
When I moved to the Bay Area to be close to SHERLOCK, I couldn't fill the anti-me cocktail I'd been on for more than one year (Welbutrin and Effexor).
Disabled people in California are insured under Medical. I couldn't be seen anywhere in the Bay Area without it. Although I applied, months went by, as I waited to be approved.
In the meantime, I smoked the best herb available to remain calm, cool and collected enough to function, while I waited, patiently, to see a doctor.
Of course, I ran out of my meds.
Within six weeks, I felt and looked better than I ever had.
For the first time since I was seventeen, I was assed out of the chemical guessing game.
If you or someone you know is or has been on the psychiatric hamster wheel, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The "try this, see how you feel," while side-effects become enemy number one.
For me, relief was fleeting, if ever, on doctor prescribed medication. No matter what I took, I still felt like shit, until I found myself unable to fill my prescription.
This is when I began to rely on the pot I'd been smoking on a regular basis for years.
It made me feel better, with NO SIDE-EFFECTS.
Now that I know what it's like to live without pills, I see no difference between street drugs and doctor prescribed ones, aside from those who benefit: the dispensers of POISON. (E.G. doctors, drug and/or insurance companies!).
These are the ONLY winners in the sick brain game.
Legal pot WORKS.
Oh, how I miss it!
When I was ALLOWED to smoke, my self esteem quadrupled instantly. To my utter delight, forty pounds MELTED off my my body within six weeks! I accomplished EVERY goal I'd been too drugged to get to for YEARS! The depression I'd grown used to LEFT. I was HAPPY for the first time in my life, without any psychiatric help!
Like a lot of people, I got my my medical marijuana license to make scoring my favorite "drug" easier, yet discovered the miracle cure for my various "CONDITIONS."
Every single one of my problems melted away.
Medi-Mal is MAGIC.
Various strains are developed every day to target the areas of the brain where multiple problems live. It's science.
Kush made me feel GREAT, happy, productive and ready to take on anything I set my freshly CLEAR mind on.
These days, I'm lucky if I can manage one task, let alone the massive goals I USED to have.
Since I do my best not to break the law, I've only smoked weed during rare occasions; mostly when others have some to share. It's HEAVEN.
In this state, I have no choice but to take strictly scheduled narcotics, which barely takes the edge off my "crazy."
At least my doctor here is open to communication, with a mutual decision about what pills she prescribes.
Now that I know better, I refuse to take anything that makes me feel drugged or gain an ounce of weight.
The latest Go-Go Rach stabilizers are one milligram of Klonopin, two times a day and a micro-dose of Haldol at bed time. My doctor and everyone else is thrilled with my semi-stable state.
Personally, I hate this shit. I am depressed, unmotivated and my creativity has gone out the window, which I think SUCKS ASS!
Even though I take my medication, as prescribed, EVERY DAY, my panic attacks remain and I am subject to total melt-downs, where I'm consumed with rage, have screaming fits and I throw things at least twice a week, or more.
I sure do miss MYSELF!.
At least I don't spend EVERY day sleeping.
And, I'm not FAT!
I'm no longer suicidal.
But, I'm not great.
Motivation eludes me.
Medi-Mal (#mmot/#MMOT) SOLVED these problems for me in California and Las Vegas.
You may remember, I read, wrote and blogged voraciously.
I got shit DONE.
Now, I can't.
Not even sometimes.
Also, I am no longer able to count on myself for a scheduled interview, let alone that I'll show up for a job every day.
Hell, I can't count on being the same person every day, anymore!
Neither does anyone else.
I finally applied for long term disability benefits in October.
I had no other choice.
I'm one *HOT* mess.
The government agreed with me on May 27, 2012.
Now I get a the "crazy check." Woo-hoo! It's about a third of what I could make working, but who's counting? At least I have a small income, while I write my books!
Is this stable?
I think not.
It is what it is.
I have nothing better to do these days, other than be the CRAZY BITCH I've come to accept.
I'd rather smoke pot and be able to work, while I write.
Medicinal Marijuana made that possible for me in the past.
Here, the MAN has dibs on what's best for me.
PILLS vs. POT.
I MISS POT.
LEGALIZE, REGULATE, EDUCATE, MEDICATE!
Until Next Time,
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